No Terror in the Bang
by HardyGal
Summary: Little by little, bots of all sorts are coming back to Cybertron. Decepticons, Autobots, unaligned pirates who will go to any lengths to prey on the battle weary... And Smokescreen is unfortunate enough to be captured by the latter.


"You know, even a typical, construction-grade welder is generally non-lethal."

He cringed. She was stalling again, or whatever that thing was where she wouldn't just get to the slagging point. Smokescreen knew this tactic, of course. Any bot worth his training knew this tactic. So why did it seem to be working?

A servo grasped his chin, and Smokescreen grunted as the servo made him look up. Immediately, his optics flickered towards the large welder held in his captor's other servo. His captor, a femme who stood just a bit above his own height, appeared to not even be aware of the tool she held. She turned his helm from side to side, optics searching meticulously, and continued her light conversation.

"Even though they're used in patch jobs and branding all the time, our physiology prevents any welder from inflicting life-threatening damage unless it's used deliberately."

The femme dropped his helm, turning her attention to his chestplates and shoulder joints. "And even then, it would be a looonng sloooww death."

"Huh, kinda like this little break," Smokescreen snarked, though his vocals were a little too hoarse to bring any real bite to the words. "Why don't you just get this over with?"

"Patience, newspark. There is an art to this, you know."

The femme tapped the nose of the welder against the top of Smokescreen's chestplates. It didn't hurt - the welder was cold, unused, making only the light _clink, clink, clink_ of metal against metal. Smokescreen squirmed in his restraints. He would have preferred the agony of a blue-hot welder.

"Despite being non-lethal," the femme continued, bringing the tapping welder to Smokescreen's shoulders. "There is a reason medics and branders make sure to dull the pain-receptors around a targeted area."

Smokescreen grunted as she tapped the welder against his right elbow joint. With both wrists shackled on either side above his helm, and his pedes occasionally failing him, his arm joints were starting to feel the strain of supporting his chassis.

The femme smiled. "Welders hurt like the Pit."

Smokescreen just had a chance to see the welder click on before it made contact with his elbow joint.

He was screaming, but he'd stopped caring about that a while ago. Besides, the welder really _did_ hurt like the Pit. He could feel the hinge of his elbow joint burning, melting, stiffening. By the time the femme removed the welder, Smokescreen was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to bend his right arm anymore, at least not until Ratchet or Knock Out got to him.

 _If_ they ever got to him.

Smokescreen pushed that thought aside, focusing instead on his venting. As his chestplates rose and fell steadily, he started laughing. He didn't know why, and honestly it just aggravated his sore chassis, but it was better than screaming.

"Took... took you long enough– _augh_!"

His quip was cut off as his left elbow joint was subjected to the same welding treatment. Smokescreen's processor reeled as, once again, he felt the metal around his joint melting to the point where articulation was impossible. All his self-preservation instincts were _screaming_ at him, telling him to get away from the source of pain, but all he could do was scream in response.

Smokescreen didn't realize that the welder had left his chassis until the femme spoke, patting his faceplates with a gentle servo.

"Newspark, are you listening?"

"What?" Smokescreen looked at her, optics flickering slightly.

"Are you prepared to tell me what my boss wants to know? It's all right if you aren't. I know how you faction types are, needing to uphold your duty to the Auto-con cause or whatever for as long as possible."

Smokescreen chuckled. He still wasn't sure why, but at least laughter portrayed a sense of bravado.

"I've been upholding for this long," he mumbled. "Why stop now?"

"That's the spirit."

The femme stepped out of his line of sight. This would usually have made him extremely nervous, but his processor had finally reached that pain-filled haze. An unpleasant state to be in, but with this femme, anything was preferable to being fully aware. So, Smokescreen let himself hang limp in his bonds, mentally constructed a few ready-made quips, and just waited for the next bout of pain.

Then, a servo grasped one of his doorwings. The haze cleared away from Smokescreen's processor in an instant, leaving him in a dizzying state of both slightly dazed and acutely aware.

"Funny thing about pain receptors," the femme said conversationally, turning the doorwing in its joint. "I don't actually think it's possible for the pain receptors in any wing - doorwings, seeker wings, or other - to be dulled."

Smokescreen felt rather than heard the familiar _clink, clink, clink_ of the welder against his doorwings. Every contact, though harmless and annoying on every other part of his chassis, left behind stinging reverberations, causing him to writhe uncomfortably.

"I wouldn't know, I've never tried," he grumbled through grit denta.

"Exactly." The femme tapped the welder against his other doorwing. "No winged bot cares to try, because every receptor in a wing is vital to how it functions. Dulling any of those receptors could be equivalent to... blinding a bot until they can't see beyond two inches from their faceplates."

The tapping finally stopped. "Of course, that just means wings are extremely susceptible to all sorts of damage."

A servo stroked up the side of his wing, and Smokescreen snapped.

He jerked against his restraints, doorwings dropping against his backstruts, and struggled to see the femme standing behind him, snarling, "Will ya just get to the point!?"

The femme sighed. "Primus, you're probably the most impatient prisoner I've ever had."

"Yeah, well, I'm not the most patient guy," Smokescreen retorted sharply.

"I'm sure that makes your superiors very happy."

Smokescreen flinched inwardly, stung by the comment, before flinching outwardly, the femme having grasped his right doorwing and forced it up.

"Fine," she said. "Let's see what happens when extremely painful tool meets extremely pain _receptive_ wing."

What happened next was a bit of a blur for Smokescreen. He didn't remember shutting down, but the next thing he knew, he was suddenly jerked awake, optics wide, vents gasping, and processor whirling.

"What...?" Smokescreen's voice box crackled, his helm lolling as he looked around, not quite remembering where he was. "What hap'n'd...?"

"Sorry, kid." The femme stepped into his line of vision, wielding an empty syringe. "I can't have you shutting down on me yet. Had to give you a shot of stimuli."

The femme tossed aside the syringe, and Smokescreen groaned, giving himself a rudimentary systems check. His vocals were extremely hoarse, voice box stinging and crackling if he tried going above a stage whisper. His chassis, which had been sore with pain before, now felt strangely numb. There was a fair amount of pain radiating from his back, and... was that a bit of lubricant he felt on his faceplates?

"So, are you ready to give up your duty?"

Smokescreen, still dazed, looked at the femme uncomprehendingly. "What?"

The femme reached over Smokescreen's shoulder. He barely had time to wonder what she was doing before a servo pulled at his doorwing. Smokescreen didn't have it in his voice box to scream as the agony hit him like a semi. All that left his voice box was an embarrassingly pathetic keen.

Slaggit, and he thought the screaming had been embarrassing.

As Smokescreen vented sharply, trying to get himself under control, the femme continued, conversational as ever. "Are you ready to tell me what my boss needs to hear? Your comrades' defenses? Number of bots that have already come back Cybertron? That stuff?"

It took some effort, but Smokescreen managed to growl between his venting and grit denta. "Get. Fragged."

The femme raised an optic ridge. Then, she chuckled. She released Smokescreen's doorwing, allowing him to fall limp, and stepped back.

"I'm surprised, not surprised, and impressed all at the same time. I have to say, I thought for sure you'd give it up after the bout with your little doorwings, but I guess I underestimated you."

Smokescreen honestly couldn't remember what had happened before he'd been shot up with the stimuli, except for a brief flash when the femme had grabbed his doorwing, but he decided not to mention that. "I'm pretty stubborn."

"Well, all the better for me." The femme turned to her work table, carefully placing the welder back alongside her other tools. "I haven't even wrung you through an _eighth_ of my tool inventory."

Smokescreen let out a low groan as the femme hovered her servo over the work table, denta clicking together thoughtfully. She finally settled on an ugly looking device Smokescreen didn't recognize.

"Do you know what this is, newspark?"

"Broken buffer, energon harvester..." Smokescreen shrugged as best he could. "I dunno."

"Do you know what it does?"

"I'm sure you'll show me." Smokescreen's vocals, though hoarse, were cold.

The femme almost pouted. "What fun is that unless you know what it does? I take great pride in knowing exactly how to do what I do without killing a bot, and you might as well appreciate some of the craftsmanship."

She walked up to Smokescreen, waving the device around his general direction. "For instance, do you know how many internal parts I can remove without killing a bot? And I'm talking long term here - I and my little tool here know exactly which parts you could stand to live without and how to remove them without a _second_ of stasis."

Smokescreen's servos clenched, and once again, he snapped. "Primus, just shut up! Just... stop stalling and get it over with!"

The femme smirked just a little. "I never pegged you for a masochist, kid. Am I going to have to change my promise a bit? 'Tell me what my boss wants to know and I'll gladly tear you apart'?"

Smokescreen glared at her. That last outburst had taken its toll on his voice box. He didn't want to risk losing his voice entirely just yet.

"No." The femme chuckled, wagging a knowing digit at him. "You just can't stand the suspense. The faster it happens, the faster its over." She shook her head with another chuckle. "Well, I have news for you kid - unless your comrades find you, you're gonna be here for awhile. Basically, it's never going to be over. Now, did you know it's actually pretty easy to expose a spark without killing the host?"

* * *

 **A/N HardyGal: "There is no terror in the bang, only the anticipation of it." ~ Alfred Hitchcock**

 **Yeah, a few years back, I planned to have a series of Smokescreen oneshots based on various random quotes, but I only wrote this one before getting swept up in school and stuff. And then I misplaced all my quotes while moving to the U.S. So have fun with this single oneshot ='3**

 **i do love smokescreen i swear**


End file.
